Festivities
by mortaldarkness
Summary: At the festivities, in honor of the Ringbearer, two very different, yet similar conversations take place.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing, you hear me? Nothing!**

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**Festivities:**

Merry found himself watching his cousin more and more often. It was not that hard to see that he wasn't the same hobbit that he once was; the Ring had changed him, and Merry thought with sudden vehemence that he wished that the Ring never came to Frodo; that he never went on the Quest. He wished none of this had happened, and that his cousin was the hobbit he was, once. Before the Ring. Before any of this. He wished that everything could go back to the way it was.

He didn't feel the presence behind him until he felt a gentle, yet firm hand on his shoulder; drawing him out of his angered thoughts.

"You are not enjoying yourself?"

Merry smiled up at the Man, so different than the vagabond wanderer that he had met in Bree. He was a King now, but sometimes the old Strider he remembered so fondly would shine through, for that was what he was at heart. A Ranger of the North, heart dwelling in the open mountains and roads, but always longing to come back home. Home to Gondor.

"I miss him. I know he's here, and he's alright, but he isn't the same. Do you think he'll ever heal?"

Aragorn turned his gaze to Frodo, laughing at something Pippin had said. He didn't need to ask that this was whom Merry was referring too.

"He may heal. But his wounds…they are different than any battle scars a soldier like me, or even you, will carry. We don't know the extent of his journeys, for I deem that Frodo did not reveal all to us. He does not wish to burden us." There was much left unsaid, that the King held in his eyes, deep with sorrow, "I miss him too, Merry. We all do. He may yet heal. Take heart, and do not give up hope for your friend."

Merry smiled, comforted at least by the Man's softly spoken words, his firm grip on the hobbit's shoulder, and the way his gaze filled with genuine sorrow when he looked upon the Ringbearer.

"But come; let us not dwell on things that will come to us in dark of night. Let us join the festivities, Master Swordsthain!"

His eyes alight; Merry pulled the King along, grabbed an apple and took a huge bite out of it, grinning at the laughter on his friends faces at the sight of a small hobbit pulling along a Man to the food table.

Gandalf, his eyes twinkling with amusement, smiled. "Never underestimate the strength of a hungry hobbit, dear friends."

Pippin's shout of protest only brought more laughter.

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Frodo, eyes alight with something akin to content joy, smiled. He missed this; indeed he had near forgotten it in the long, hard months of endless days wandering dark roads that seemed to get them nowhere nearer their goal. But the task was done, and he was free again of the burden of the Ring; save for a gapping emptiness inside of him, and emptiness that, though eventually would heal, would tear him apart before the end.

He had managed to escape the heat and joy of the festivities, for a time. He was tired of the eyes upon him, the whispers and thanks he got. The praise. It made Frodo remember, and he was tired of remembering.

So instead, he let his mind take him back to happier days, as his hollow gaze swept the Pellenor, still stained with the blood of Enemy and mortal Man and beast alike. He watched as the sun set, golden rays spilling across the City, bathing it in light that reminded him of the Golden Wood of Galadriel and the Elves of Lorien.

It was called the City of Kings, and indeed it upheld its name, looking like a City out of legend and old myths long forgotten in the dying light. Here, Frodo could not help but feel as if he was in a dream, overlooking the vast City, and the fields beyond, from his seat high above in the Tower. He thought of the Shire, his home, and his heart ached painfully. He did not realize how much he loved it until he was gone.

He knew someone had sat beside him, but he was not ready to leave his thoughts, not yet ready to go back. But the person was not aware of that, and Frodo at last turned away from the sight of the golden City far below him.

"How fare you, Frodo?" The voice was familiar, and the face was that of a friend.

He thought about how to answer such a question. He could lie, but it was not in his heart to. Aragorn seemed aware that his words were carefully chosen.

"I can't really answer that, Aragorn. I am fine, but then there is the emptiness in my heart and mind, left behind when the Ring was destroyed. I do not know how to fill it.

"I do not believe that it will heal quickly, nor do I wish to give you false hopes that it will. You carry different scars, and I said as much to Merry. Your scars, I deem, are of a different sort of battle, and will take longer to heal." Aragorn smiled sadly, "Indeed, I fear as though it will be many a long year until you are whole again, dear hobbit."

Frodo sighed. He turned his gaze back to the fields, and the setting sun. "I miss the Shire. I never knew how much I did, not until I left. And…and I feel in my heart that you are right. I do not think that I will heal, not for a very long time. Not even when I return home.

"Home…it's a strange word to speak. I did not think I would return."

Aragorn could only stare in amazement. He had not ever heard such words, filled with despair, come out of the hobbit's mouth.

"I can not rightly say that I know how you feel. But…is not home, when away from it for so long, one of the things we learn to give up? We learn to live without it, and when it does finally come in our grasp, we cannot help but feel more than a little lost."

Frodo nodded, though he did not turn, "We best be returning. It is one thing for the Ringbearer to be gone, but when the King is gone as well, people will begin to worry."

Aragorn laughed, and after a moment Frodo joined in.

"I suppose we must, Master Baggins. Come; let us endure the slow torment of fancy words and nervous servants and guests for a while longer."

Frodo could not keep the lingering smile from his face, and as he rose from his seat and took his friend's hand, he could not help but think, that perhaps for a time, everything would be alright.


End file.
